Friday Fictioneer 100 words – Belly of the beast

Thanks to Rochelle and Piya Singh for this week’s Friday Fiction photo prompt.

photo-by-piya-singh-bittercharm-6

It could transform into a balloon, a small dog, a tree, a copy of the Mona Lisa, or, this time, a small stone hovel in the Scottish wilderness. It seemed so innocent, and might have stayed there for centuries, posing for cute photos in a picturesque setting, eating hikers and foxes out in the wild, but it got unlucky. A lady reported it chewing up her husband and her best friend while she’d peed, luckily out of its sight. Of course we had to fight and destroy it, the battle ended by flamethrowers. We emptied the bones from its belly.

Thank you for reading. Constructive comments welcome.

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Friday Fictioneer 100 words – Belly of the beast

Friday Fictioneer: When Ben Burned Down the Bandstand

A strangely psychotic piece this week – think it was partly prompted and crystalised by everyone’s shock, including my own, at the hideous air crash where the pilot apparently very calmly flew himself and 150 other people into a mountain – for no good reason (all will probably be revealed, I suppose). Still, fucking unbearable to think about. Shudder.

This act of senseless brutality freaked me out and filtered its way into my story, though it’s also still inspired by the band picture. Apologies to the band people btw 😉 At least this guy has a clear motive for his dreadful actions, however dreadfully weak.

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Friday Fictioneer
By Dave Stewart

Bandstand Burn

When Ben burned down the bandstand, he didn’t seem the chap. He’d always been a nice guy,  we’d never heard him snap. But his one true love was music, and he had longed to play. But talent at it he had none, and the band drove him away. We saw him sulking in the park, although he waved and smiled. A light had gone behind his eyes, his grin it scared my child. We don’t know where he found the fuel, but he waited til the fayre. Then one match, poof, and up it went, and discord burned the air.

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Friday Fictioneer: When Ben Burned Down the Bandstand

Short Story: The Will

Jane had been down here a long time…

This is an original piece written by Joanna K Neilson:

dry-well

The Will

Worry gnawed at her bones. Her stomach was so empty it no longer hurt and she couldn’t remotely remember the softness of a bed. It was hard to sleep down here, in the cold darkness, with rats running over her feet and nibbling at her whenever she passed out from exhaustion and pain. No, there was nothing left inside her to shake off the misery, to fight for a way out. She was broken and beaten and wanted to die. He had destroyed her. What was left was a stringy, starving thing that could barely remember kindness or her life before these curving walls, kept in this dingy cellar space that stank of rodent droppings and her own filth. Her captor had grown bored of her, that’s the impression she had whenever he appeared recently. As if she were inconveniencing him, the fucker. If she had more energy she’d appreciate the irony. Instead it fuelled the one spark of energy she had left.

Jane’s hate surged up from her misery, became a single furious knot of will. Then a fat fucking rat ran across her matted hair. She grabbed it and bit down into its neck, sucking at the hot blood, trying not to gag on the furry, wriggling body. She sucked down all the insides of the rat and spat out its less palatable parts. That was better. Continue reading “Short Story: The Will”

Short Story: The Will

750ish words: ‘Animal’s Theory about the guy next door’

Consistent writing does take the fear out of the process, the crippling perfectionism that can kill a first draft, let alone the minowwing idea that promises to grow into tasty words and yummy stories. So before I kill that metaphor entirely…here’s a quick story, minnow sized actually, written in 20 minutes on one of the most inspirational writing sites out there – 750words.com.  The site tracks you keeping up writing at least 750 words a day, and it’s a good way to break through any starting nerves, any hesitation can be fought through and replaced with sweetly random connections coming together. Or, you know, a rant about how mad, irrational and crappy you’re feeling at that particular moment. Lately I’ve been doing the fiction more than the internal angst, though that’s still there. Weirdly, it’s easier to fill the 750 words remit by writing a story, than by rolling around inside your brain. Most of the time, anyway.

So, below is a rough idea taken from a random verbal prompt of: Animal, Florida, Chinchilla. To the suggester, you know who you are, and thank you. It was also loosely inspired by this quote that a fantasy writing prompt tumblr account mentioned. But as it’s something of a spoiler, I’ll quote it at the very end. So, here’s the very brief reaction to the prompt:

Animal’s theory about the guy next door

Florida roiled in oily heat. Stars above shimmered in the haze. My pal, animal, fed his pet chinchilla a fat grape and cracked open his fifth beer with me and Margaret.

“Do either of you know,” he started, wiping sweat from his brow, He was so watery I was a little amazed his shoulder tattoo didn’t run. “How many of us are currently being eaten by the monsters we think are merely imaginary?”

Continue reading “750ish words: ‘Animal’s Theory about the guy next door’”

750ish words: ‘Animal’s Theory about the guy next door’